


Black Angel's Birth

by c_r_u_o_r



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Blood and Injury, Gen, Hallucinations, Psychological Torture, Repression, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:21:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25941283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c_r_u_o_r/pseuds/c_r_u_o_r
Summary: Just a sketch of what could happen to Vergil after he was captured by Mundus.
Kudos: 22





	Black Angel's Birth

There are some scars that do not heal. Some things cannot be forgotten, nor they let you go.

He assumes something might not be the way he expected when the demon king parries his attack and throws him away without a flinch. Then, when the king strikes and Vergil cannot evade the attack and his wounds –almost healed from fighting Dante – reopen, worsened tenfold, he believes something may be wrong. When Yamato breaks, along with any last hope for a victory he still had, he realizes he's in a big, serious trouble.

Mundus doesn't let him think, grabs him with ease and takes to his palace. Ever heard of "The Snow Queen" fairy tale? Change the place of action to the Mallet Island, add endless torture and brainwashing and you'll get what Vergil doomed himself to.

"And I wept both night and day,  
And he wiped my tears away;  
And I wept both day and night,  
And hid from him my heart’s delight."

He whispered to himself, remembering each and every of the William Blake's poems he knew by heart.

He saw a figure in a black and golden dress, with red cloak, blonde hair and the kindest eyes of all.

"My son...Vergil..." she spoke to him, making a step closer.

"Mother..."

He felt her hands on his face, holding him gently. Like he was eight again. But the grip soon strengthened, pulling him forward.

"What a disappointment you are, Vergil. Look at yourself. How pathetic."

She looked at him, her eyes being the dearest thing to him, with a look of disgust.

"I'm sorry, mother, I'm so sorry..."

He couldn't save her back then. He wasn't strong enough. He still isn't strong enough.

He feels a blade piercing his spine and going all the way through, going all the way down, grounding him.

"It's too late." she pets his hair, red with blood. Vergil tries to take a breath, but the metal burns his insides and blood in his lungs seems to be boiling.

"My love," he heard another voice, higher and thinner. A figure in red dress approached him.

"Meredith," he thought and wanted to call her, but could only make gurgling sounds. He tried to get up, but two soft hands were out on his shoulder, holding him with immense force.

"You couldn't save me, Vergil. Why couldn't you save me?"

He wanted to say he was sorry again, but the only thing coming out of his mouth was his warm blood dripping down the chin, mixing up with tears, making a puddle under his legs. So much red.

Familiar clicking echoed from the walls as another, third figure approached him. Vergil didn't even need to see him to know that it's him. Dante.

"And you thought you could defeat me, brother?" he heard his brother's voice and laughter, and got kicked in the face by his boot.

"Look at yourself! So much talking about power and now," Dante grabbed him by his hair and lifted his head to look him in the eyes. They were mere centimetres away. "You've lost, Vergil. To your weaker little brother. Is that what you think of me?"

Laughter again. And a punch to a left cheek. Another one, to the right. Dante seemed to have broken his nose.

He counted how many times he has been hit, feeling the skin opening and revealing bright red flesh and blood flowing, seemingly, without end. As soon as his skin regenerated enough so that there is some "clean" space, the tortures began afresh. He's been cut, beaten, stabbed countless times in his heart, lungs, stomach, and liver. From time to time even demonic blood didn't help and Vergil blacked out, his body not being able to bear that much pain.

He lost. He lost to Dante, he lost to Mundus. He was a failure to his mother and his loved one. Slowly, their images began to fade from his mind, being replaced by something...grey and formless. In the end, the only word that resonated in his scull was  
"Serve."


End file.
